I was at a rather standard cafe today waiting for my car to be fixed. I had quite a bit of time to kill so I pulled out a book to read and order a coffee and a piece of apple pie. I felt like an early Gen-X’er that was really into Bukowski for a moment, as if I should be writing mediocre poetry into a moleskine. I began to prepare my coffee, one su…

I've been beating myself up over the years for NOT producing enough, for not making enough. For not getting enough out. What ever that means Ironically I'm sitting in a room filled with outs. There are paintings on the walls, papers on the desk. Music on the computer. A myriad of outs and external expressions of myself. I keep telling myself I shou…